


Handle Not With Care

by anysin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bad Ending, Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, Choking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Despair, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Dollification, Fisting, Gangbang, M/M, Mind Control, Near Death Experiences, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Objectification, Sex Slavery, Sex in a Car, Stockholm Syndrome, Voyeurism, came back wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/pseuds/anysin
Summary: The remnants of the Circus bring Tim back to life and turn him into a sex doll. When he's sent off to the Institute, Peter receives him.
Relationships: Beholding/Tim Stoker, Elias Bouchard/Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker, Peter Lukas/Tim Stoker, Simon Fairchild/Tim Stoker, The Lukas Family/Tim Stoker
Comments: 53
Kudos: 220





	1. Unwrapped

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to get very dark, so mind the tags.

The box is snug and uncomfortable, even for a man who is now a doll. Tim has been hogtied into a neat little package, his wrists and ankles bound together with a giant bow which he assumes to be bright red. There is a leather collar around his throat and a plastic heart stuffed in his mouth; he's like a twisted Valentine's Day gift and he doesn't even know what date it is. He has no idea how much time has passed since the explosion, or even his 'resurrection'.

All he knows that against all expectations, his fucked up life has turned into an even bigger nightmare.

The lid of the box is removed, and Tim squints against the bright light that floods into his vision. Squinting, blinking, batting his lashes prettily, presumably crying are the only things he can do under his own power; Tim has lost his autonomy otherwise, and his voice. He can only hold still as someone, a man, laughs at the sight at him and reaches down to undo the tight bow from around his limbs, pulling the long ribbon off while Tim's arms and legs fall limply down to his sides.

"How _strange_ ," the man says, deeply amused. "Well, let's see how you work. Get up and step out of the box."

Tim's body is moving before the words even fully register in his brain. He braces his hands against the bottom of the box and pushes himself up, feeling strangely light; he straightens up to his full height, tremors running through his new, still unused body as he steps over the edge of the box, halting there.

Fury lights up in his chest when he realizes that he's in Elias's office, meaning he's back at the Institute. Of course, the circus would send him back to the one place he hates almost as much as he hates them. Even in this sick afterlife, he isn't allowed to be free from the Eye.

"Come stand before me," the man says, and Tim finds himself turning around. The man - his owner, Tim thinks with a secret shudder - is tall and broad, giving Tim a sunny smile that doesn't match his cold eyes as he waits for Tim to approach him. Tim strides towards the man until there is only an inch or so between them, glaring up at him with all the defiance he can muster.

That only seems to amuse the man more.

"Elias said you were a troublemaker," he says, grasping Tim's chin. He reaches into Tim's mouth and pulls the plastic heart out, tossing it to the side before turning Tim's face to this side and that, resting his heavy thumb against Tim's bottom lip. Tim flinches; involuntary reactions are still allowed to him. 

"I wonder what he would think of this," the man ponders, cupping Tim's cheek briefly before dragging his hand down to Tim's neck, sliding one finger beneath his tightly fitting leather collar. He pulls it even tighter, and Tim finds that he can still gag. "I should ask him, the next time I see him."

The man withdraws his finger and reaches for Tim's mouth again, pulling his lips up to see his teeth properly, like he's a horse. After a thorough check-up, the man drops his hand down to Tim's chest, which is now hairless; aside from the hair on his head, Tim is bare all over, making him feel even more vulnerable. He shivers inside as light fingertips travel over his worm scars, still left there to haunt him although his skin is eerily flawless otherwise.

"Do you know what your purpose is now?" the man - Tim wishes he had a name for him - asks Tim, circling behind him.

Briefly, Tim has hope that he is capable of speaking after all; even speaking on command is better than nothing. But he remains silent, his mouth not even opening.

"I think you'll like it," the man says, grabbing Tim's arse with a rough hand. He squeezes, bringing his other hand up to Tim's throat. "I heard that you were a whore before, but now you're a simple fucktoy. I think the circus was hoping to shock your friends by sending you over here, but I don't think they need to know about you at all, now do they?" 

Clasping Tim's throat firmly, the man yanks Tim against his hard body. Tim freezes when something huge and heavy pokes at his arse through the man's rough trousers, hot even though cloth.

"See, I have plans for them, and it would be a shame if they went to waste because of you. No, I better keep you to myself." The man laughs, sliding two large fingers down to Tim's arse crack. "I think I'll find some use for you."

The fingers enter him without a warning, pushing all the way inside him in one go. Tim blinks hard over the intrusion, although it doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would; he quickly realizes it's because his arse has grown slick from the inside, as if welcoming violation. Still, his body squeezes tight around the intruding fingers, his back arching.

"They really put a lot of effort into you," the man says behind him, admiringly. "See, they even put a manual together. I need to examine that thoroughly."

The fingers begin to thrust inside him, fucking him open. The lubrication helps, but Tim is still tight and unwilling and it hurts, and yet he can't even whimper. All he can do is blink in protest when the hand on his throat slides down to his chest, dragging a calloused palm over Tim's still sensitive nipples before brushing down to his heaving stomach - he doesn't think he breathes anymore, but his body still imitates it - then passing over his bare pubis to grasp his cock.

Cock which has, much to Tim's horror, grown hard, jerking eagerly in the man's grip as he drags his fist along it.

"Ready for duty already," the man says with obvious approval. "Hmm, I think I want you bent over the desk, holding yourself open for me."

The man pulls away from him, leaving Tim to wobble on the spot. His body recovers fast, however, walking over to Elias's desk and stretching down over it. He reaches behind himself and grabs his buttocks, spreading them wide open.

He waits there shivering while the man approaches him slowly, slapping his hand down on Tim's back.

"A natural." There is a sound of zipper being undone, then rustling of clothing as the man takes his cock out. When he presses against Tim, he's hard and ready, and his sheer size makes Tim squeeze his eyes shut with dread.

Tim's hole is wet from his own slick, and the man did a thorough job of fucking him open; yet Tim isn't ready at all when the man starts to push his cock inside him, the head alone making him gasp. His hands remain where they are, clutching his arse cheeks and keeping himself open for the man, letting him inside. He can't help the involuntary clenching of his body as he's filled, and he thinks he feels the throbbing of the man's thick cock all the way to his dry throat.

The man slides his hand up Tim's back to the scruff of his neck, grasping him tight. He pulls back and thrusts forward, making Tim gasp breathlessly again as his body shudders against the desk.

"Hold onto the desk," the man says. "Move along with me."

Tim moves his hands to the edge of the desk, clasping down tight as the man begins to fuck him. He rocks along with the man's harsh thrusts, keeping up with his fast, brutal rhythm even though it hurts, even though his own cock aches so much with need it's distracting. The fact his body finds excitement in this makes Tim feel sick, and ashamed.

The man is has gone quiet, gripping Tim from his neck and stroking the side of his hip and arse before sliding a large hand between the desk and Tim. His fingers wrap around Tim's cock, firm and tight, stroking him in time with his thrusts. He leans over Tim, his chest and stomach coming down to rest against the slope of Tim's back.

"I'll have to see if there is a way to bring your voice back," the man muses into Tim's ear, his breath hot against the shell. "I bet it would be nice to hear you beg."

He drags his thumb over the slit and Tim's mouth falls open in a silent scream, his fingers digging hard into the wood of the desk. Somehow, his body still remembers what it's supposed to be doing, continuing to fuck itself on the man's massive cock.

The man grunts, thrusting into Tim even harder and faster until he buries himself balls deep inside Tim, coming in hot, wet spurts. His hand keeps pumping Tim's cock, bringing him painfully close to the edge but not letting him go over it, stroking and jerking him until Tim's flesh is burning from over-stimulation.

"Come," the man says, and only _then_ does Tim come, shooting his load all over the man's hand. He slumps against the desk, panting hard as he trembles all over, still clutching the edge of the table with white-knuckled hands.

The man yanks himself out, releasing both Tim's neck and cock as he steps away from him. Tim can feel his eyes on him from behind, taking in the sight of Tim on the desk, shivering from head to toe and leaking spunk from his sore hole. The man laughs, and Tim can hear him pull his trousers back on.

"At ease," the man says, and instantly Tim's hold on the desk loosens, his whole body going limp; apparently, this is some hard-coded command. Tim finds himself sliding off the desk and down to the floor, boneless like a rag doll.

Well, he might as well be that too, can't he? He isn't human anymore. He isn't even a person. He's a _thing_.

Once he's dressed again, the man walks over to Tim, lifting him up from the floor into his arms. He gives Tim a smile that is false as Tim's body as he carries him over to the box again, shoving him back inside face first.

"The name is Peter Lukas, by the way," the man says, arranging Tim's limbs so his legs are bent and his wrists are crossed above the small of his back, although he doesn't tie them together. "You can think of me as that, or as your boss. For as long as you can even think, anyway."

Peter Lukas pats Tim on the arse before leaving him the box, putting the lid back on.

There, folded up and trapped in the dark, Tim discovers that his tear ducts are, indeed, fully functional.


	2. Let Me Entertain You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Tim test Tim's settings and Tim visits Jon in the hospital.

In the box, there is nothing else to do but think and sleep. Tim doesn't know if he needs rest, but he sleeps anyway, only to dream of Grimaldi and Danny and getting sewn back together. He wonders if that last thing is a real memory or something his mind has cooked up to fill the gap between his past life and now.

He doesn't know how much time has passed between his first use and the second time he's taken out of the box, but it doesn't matter; by then he has grown desperate enough that when he feels calloused hands on his body, lifting him up into a dimly lit room, it's such a relief that his eyes instantly tear up.

"Oh, look at you," Peter Lukas says in a soft voice as he turns Tim around in his arms to face an unfamiliar ceiling; he isn't at the Institute anymore. "Did you miss me? I'm flattered."

Peter carries Tim over to a large bed, lowering him down on it. Peter splays Tim's limbs out and smooths his hair out of his face, his touch almost gentle; Tim should loathe it, but instead he longs for it, wishing he could lean into it. He is disappointed when Peter pulls away from him, walking out of his sight.

When Peter returns, he is carrying a book.

"Let's adjust you a bit." Peter flips the book open, and starts to read.

Tim knows something is happening the moment a sharp, searing pain tears through his throat, making him gag; he could swear he feels something shift and rearrange inside him, and that's probably exactly what is happening right now. What Peter has in his hands is of course the manual, and of course the manual is a fucking Leitner, meant to shape him to his owner's wishes. One more way his body isn't his anymore.

It makes him feel so helpless.

Tim is trembling by the time the pain subsides, leaving him feeling raw.

"There we go." Peter closes the book with a slap, walking out of Tim's sight again. When he returns, the book is gone. "Speak freely."

A tingling feeling spreads through Tim's mouth, ending at the tip of his tongue. He is almost too afraid to say anything first, but when he looks at Peter's smiling face, rage comes over him, and he starts to snarl: "You sick fucking bast-"

"Silence," Peter orders, and Tim goes voiceless mid-word, only able to gape pointlessly and fume at Peter. Peter grins at him, adding: "Let's try this again. Tell me, how would you like to be fucked?"

The answer is that he doesn't, of course. But he can't say that; the question itself doesn't allow it, and even if it did, he's sure Peter doesn't feel like indulging him. But if he can choose-

Some measure of control would be nice, wouldn't it?

"Let me suck your cock," Tim mutters, satisfied that he sounds sullen rather than pleading. "People say I'm great at giving head."

"I'm sure you are." But Peter is taking his hands to his belt, pulling it free from the buckle. "Well, then. Come here and service me."

With that, Tim is able to move. He gets up on his knees on the bed, crawling over to the end where Peter stands and waits. Peter has only opened his belt, so Tim has to reach out and do the rest, unbuttoning and unzipping Peter's trousers and pushing them down over his hips.

Tim swallows as Peter's cock springs into sight once Tim lowers his underwear, already intimidating even though it isn't even at full mast. Tim wraps his fingers around it, stroking it slowly as he leans down. He starts with the shaft, licking and kissing along its length before making his way to the head. He strokes the head with his tongue before fitting his lips around it, giving it a soft suck.

Peter moans, entangling his hand into Tim's hair. Tim takes Peter deeper into his mouth, sucking gently and stroking his thick shaft, letting his hand slide down to Peter's balls to cup them before returning it up. Peter twists his fingers tighter into Tim's hair while Tim parts his lips wide and pushes forward, letting Peter's length slide along his tongue and deep into his mouth.

He takes Peter all the way into his throat, letting the muscles there squeeze around his girth before pulling back- except Peter shoves his head right back into his groin, entering his throat again. Tim convulses around the throbbing flesh, nostrils flaring, but he struggles to stay calm, waiting for Peter's hold on him to loosen a bit so he can pull off.

"You really are meant for this," Peter comments as Tim withdraws with a gasp, tears in his eyes and mouth full of saliva. "Give some attention to my bollocks, won't you?"

Tim wants to glare at him but his body gives him no time for that; he strokes Peter's now slick shaft while leaning down to nuzzle his balls, licking and sucking on their soft skin. He takes his chance to stare up at Peter now, with all his venom.

Peter just smiles down at him, stroking his fingers through Tim's hair and rubbing his scalp, but his smile starts to fade as he gets closer to his climax, his caress turning into a harsh grip. Tim takes as much of his sac into his mouth as he can, sucking on it hard while jerking on Peter's cock, feeling as Peter's hips start to twitch.

"That's enough," Peter says, breathless, and Tim instantly pulls his hand away and lets Peter's sac out of his mouth, waiting while Peter grasps his cock. With few fast jerks, Peter is coming all over Tim's face, catching him on his cheeks, nose and lips, even his hair and eyelashes. Tim blinks droplets of spunk out of his eyes, hanging there in Peter's grip while Peter breathes heavily, squeezing last drops of come out of his cock.

"I have to give it to you, you are very good at this," Peter says, rubbing the head of his cock dry against Tim's parted lips. "We need to see about your other settings, but I think I should try to go to work now. At ease."

Tim falls limp, unable to move or speak again.

"I think 'deactivate' would be a much better term, but, well, that's what they went with." Peter returns Tim onto his back on the bed, spreading his arms onto his sides and his legs obscenely wide apart. He looks down at Tim for a moment before grinning, walking away to fetch something.

Tim fears it's the manual again, but this time it's a camera.

"For Elias," Peter explains, and snaps a photo of him.

Peter takes off, leaving Tim to scream in his mind.

*

Over their next meetings, Peter tests a variety of settings: erogenous zones, sensitivity levels, pain tolerance, Tim's ability to feel pleasure, whether he lubricates or not, the tightness of his arse. They discover that Tim can heal and that the extent of his healing can be adjusted, which is also tested; that's how Tim ends up with new scars on his back, courtesy of a lash. They are preferable to other things that Peter does to him, or even says.

"In theory, I could let you get fucked by a horse," Peter whispers to him one night, fucking his limp, helpless body. "I won't, because that is really quite disgusting, but all I need is the manual to make sure you can take it. Or that you really, really can't."

Tim can only shudder inside in response.

When Peter is done with him, he takes a moment to tighten Tim up, until one finger alone is enough to make Tim pant and arch his back. Peter laughs at that, loosening him up a bit before lifting him from the bed.

"That should be good enough," he says as he carries Tim back to the box; Tim is always put back in at the end of the day, never allowed to forget what he is now. "Tomorrow, we're going to a hospital. You'll get to see one of your old friends."

Tim goes cold inside. There is no way to tell for sure who's going to be there, but whoever is there is obviously not going to be fit enough to receive him. He can only hope it's Elias. He fears it's going to be Jon.

*

Tim doesn't know how Peter is able to move the box around without Tim even realizing that the box has been moved, but Peter manages that trick again: the next time Tim is lifted out of the box, he is at the hospital, and just as he feared, it's Jon in the hospital bed.

Jon doesn't look too good, all ghoulish and worn and like he has all the weight of the world on his shoulders even while unconscious, and that last part pisses TIm off a little if he's perfectly honest with himself. At least Jon still has his body, at least he still belongs- well, Tim doesn't know that for sure, who Jon belongs to exactly. But even though comatose, he still has more control and autonomy over himself than Tim will ever again.

Except now.

"Get him hard," Peter whispers to Tim, continuing to hold onto him until Tim finds his footing. "I want to see you bounce on the Archivist's cock like a good little fucktoy you are."

Tim wants to shudder, but he's walking towards the bed, reaching out to pull Jon's covers off him. Jon has lost weight, looking even skinnier than before, and he remains as still as a corpse as Tim pushes his hospital gown up, exposing first his slim thighs, then his hips. Jon is wearing underwear, so Tim has to pull it down to his knees, and as he does so, he climbs up on the bed.

He gets a moment to think about his approach, whether to use his hands or his mouth. He goes with the latter, reasoning that Peter probably won't allow them lube; he tightened Tim's arse up and turned off his lubrication so that this would be as uncomfortable as possible for him and Jon both, and Tim has to take comfort wherever he can. Settling between Jon's legs, Tim takes Jon's limp cock into his hand and starts to stroke it, resting his hand on Jon's hip.

Jon feels cold, which weirds Tim out, but he keeps stroking him, and little by little Jon grows hard. Tim leans down to swallow his cock, running his tongue along its smooth surface and drooling on it as much as he can, moving his head rapidly up and down. He can feel Peter watching him, and he hopes Peter will give him time.

Of course he fucking doesn't.

"All right, that's enough," Peter says, impatient. "Take his cock."

Tim grimaces, but naturally he obeys, climbing up into Jon's lap. From this close, Jon looks even more eerie than from a distance, like he's haunted, like he's cursed. Tim shudders as he grabs his own arse cheeks and spreads himself open, guiding his hole to the head of Jon's cock before starting to sit down.

Jon is more slender than Peter, but Tim's body is wound tight and even with the spit it hurts when Jon's cock pushes inside him. But Tim takes him, panting as he lets Jon slide into him all the way to the root, shaking as he tries to adjust to his girth. Below him, Jon remains unmoving, and unmoved. Wherever he is, it has to be a more pleasant place than this hospital room.

Tim is allowed some noise now, so he can't help small whimpers as he starts to move, sliding up on Jon's cock and pushing back down. He can't help himself; he turns his head to Peter's direction, expecting to find him smirking at him. Instead, Peter looks intense and focused, fondling himself through his trousers as he leans against the wall. Tim turns back to Jon, bucking up and down on his cock.

It takes a long time. Jon's cock doesn't throb at all, which is freaky, but it's stiff and leaking inside Tim, which makes it a little easier to ride it. Tim's body doesn't sweat, but he nevertheless feels slick and kind of cool all over as he bounces on Jon's cock, taking him in as deep as he can and letting his arse squeeze around him. He is dismayed to realize that his own cock has grown hard despite his discomfort, but he knows there won't be any release for him unless Peter allows it. It's never, ever about him, after all.

That's when Jon's eyes open.

It's not Jon looking up at Tim. It's that thing- the thing behind the Institute, behind the whole last chapter in the story of how Tim's life went irreversibly wrong. It stares up at Tim with bright eyes, just stares and devours him, and Tim can't even scream. His body keeps grinding on top of Jon's, fast and feverish, working them both towards a climax.

Except, of course, Tim can't come. Not unless his master, one of them, allows it.

"Come," Peter says, and Tim's cock erupts without him even having to touch it, spurting its seed over Jon's jaw and chest while Tim's body tightens around Jon's cock. Jon's body twitches beneath him, his eyes growing impossibly wide for a moment before returning to normal, then sliding shut as Jon's cock twitches within Tim, releasing its load.

Tim wants to fall slack on top of Jon, but he remains upright, letting Jon jerk inside him until his cock goes soft and starts to slide out. That's when Tim lifts his hips, letting Jon's cock slip out of him and a dribble of spunk to run down the back of his thigh. He aches all over and he doesn't want to look at Peter, but he supposes he soon must. 

He jumps when he feels Peter's hand on his back, stroking him.

"Very good," Peter says, his voice warm in a way one could almost mistake for friendly. "You are truly earning your keep. I do wonder though, when will the novelty start wearing off?"

Before the Unknowing, Tim thought he wanted to die. He should want that more than ever now; he doesn't understand why he doesn't.


	3. Lonely Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter takes Tim to meet his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is quite angsty on emotional level so be warned.

Over time, Peter starts to leave Tim alone for long periods, which turns out to be worse for Tim than Peter's attention. When he's alone in the box, he is that completely: no sound breaks through the walls of the box, there is nothing to taste nor smell, he sees nothing and feels nothing except the discomfort of his body. All he has is his own mind, and that has become a horrible thing to him.

It's a surprise that the constant isolation and deprivation haven't made him lose it completely yet - human mind isn't built for that sort of things - but Tim has to wonder if that's only a matter of time. The alternative is worse: he is getting used to being treated like a non-person, _being_ a non-person, turning into a doll for real. Either way, his humanity is drifting further and further away from him, and that makes him cling to Peter with despair whenever Peter takes him out.

"Please fuck me," he begs as Peter lays him down on the bed, once he's given permission to speak. He hates how easy it is for him now, to beg and crawl. "Be as rough as you like, hit me, choke me, snuff me, just-"

"Just what?" Peter loops a rope around the bedpost, securing it before starting to bind Tim's wrists. "Don't put you back in the box? You know it will always eventually happen."

Tim flinches. He does know.

"Don't leave me there alone for such a long time," he whispers, swallowing as his arms are pulled taut above his head. "Please, I can't handle it."

Peter laughs.

"But I think you can," he says, moving down to the end of the bed. He has more rope waiting there, for Tim's legs. "You have no idea how much even a little fucktoy like you is capable of."

He wraps his hand around Tim's left ankle, stroking the bone with his thumb.

"I will keep your suggestions in mind, however." Peter grins at him, grasping his ankle tight. "I do love how you choke."

Tim closes his eyes. He knows that, too.

*

One day, Peter shocks Tim with clothes.

"We are going out," Peter tells him cheerfully, pushing Tim towards the bed where a simple black suit waits for him. "Now, you will be doing your usual duty at our destination, but during the trip there and back you need to be re-presentable. Get dressed."

The suit is fitting for a funeral, but it's the most beautiful thing Tim has seen in a long time. There is no underwear available, so he has to pull the clothes on his bare skin, but Tim doesn't care; he doesn't even mind that the shirt and the jacket are too snug and that the slacks cling to his arse and thighs. The important thing is that he has clothes again, that he's going outside; it will be the first time in many months he will see something other than these walls, or those of Elias's office, or those of the box. He has to close his eyes as emotion rushes over him, making him shake.

While Tim stands there next to the bed, he hears Peter walk up to him, grasping him from his shoulders and turning him around. 

"Aren't you handsome," Peter murmurs, sounding strange. Tim opens his eyes and sees Peter looking at him with slight surprise, as if he's seeing Tim for the first time. Which he is, in a way; this is the first time Peter has seen Tim in any clothes, looking like a human being. Like a person.

"Yes," Peter says, his voice still a little distant. He slides his hands up to Tim's neck, where Tim is still wearing his collar, sliding his fingertips underneath the thick leather to stroke Tim's skin.

"We need to give you a scarf to cover that up," he says, focus returning to his eyes as he smiles to Tim. "Give me a second."

As Peter releases him and approaches the closet, Tim can't help but feel a pang of disappointment. Of course, seeing him like this didn't change anything for Peter: Tim is still just a thing, in the end. It shouldn't be a surprise.

And yet.

*

Tim has been ordered into silence, so he and Peter say nothing to each other during the long drive. Peter keeps his hand on Tim's thigh, which seems to make the driver uncomfortable, although she doesn't say a word. She keeps trying to look at Tim through the mirror, however, which makes Tim nervous; he avoids her gaze, looking out of the window instead.

This is the first time he's been in the outside world ever since he died. He can't stop staring at people on the streets, living lives that are hopefully boring and mundane and free from fucked up powers; he wishes so much he could be among them, blend into their midst. He envies them all to death, but he keeps looking after them, drinking in the sight of them and their presence for as long as he can.

Eventually, they leave the city behind and drive to the countryside, and as hard as he tries to be indifferent, Tim grows anxious. He remembers the statement about the Lukas family from his early days at the Archives, mentioning a house in Kent; obviously, that's where they're heading. He remembers that the family described in the statement was aloof and off-putting, and he knows they won't be kind to him. He wonders why Peter is taking him to them.

He wonders if Peter is planning to leave him there.

Eventually, they reach the old, massive house of Peter's family.

"Get out and wait for me," Peter tells him, and Tim instantly reaches for the door handle, hoping he will get a chance to inhale fresh air before he's inevitably forced indoors. That's when the driver speaks up.

"I'm sorry, Sir," she says, turning towards Tim, "but are you all right?"

Tim freezes inside, but his body keeps moving, opening the car door and putting one foot out. In the car, Peter makes no move to leave, and Tim can hear him say:

"He is quite all right. I think you and I should have a word, though."

As soon as Tim has stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him even as he screams at his body to stop, the car starts to fill with fog. Tim thinks he can hear the driver yelp inside, but he's powerless to do anything about it; all he can do is stand frozen next to the car, wait for Peter to come out. He breathes hard and fast, his doll heart racing in his chest.

After a while, the fog dissipates, and Peter gets out of the car. He looks completely unruffled, smiling to Tim as usual as he circles around the car and joins him.

"Not what I was planning, but these things happen," he says to Tim in a conversational tone, bringing his hand down to the small of Tim's back. "Let's go inside. You have a long day ahead of you."

As Peter guides him toward the house, Tim wishes he could glance back at the cab, see if the first benevolent person he has met in ages is still there. But he knows that she isn't.

*

The house is strangely empty when they enter. There is a balding, tired-looking man waiting for them in the lobby, who Tim assumes to be a servant; he barely glances at Tim before focusing on Peter.

"Here is the entertainment of the day," Peter says to the servant. "I assume there is a room ready for him? Take us there."

The room is spacious and sparse, with barely any furniture or decorations. Tim has to strip down and leave his clothes - he misses them already - in the corner of the room before Peter summons him to the middle, pushing him down onto his hands and knees.

"Now," he says, grasping Tim's chin as he forces an eye contact between them, "I want you to stay put, and service anyone who comes to use you. You will obey any order that people here give to you. You have the permission to come." He narrows his eyes at Tim. "Do you think you can handle that? Speak freely."

"I don't think I have any choice," Tim mutters, curling his fingers slightly against the floor. It's cold and hard beneath his hands and legs.

"That is true," Peter agrees, patting Tim firmly on the cheek. "Show them what you're made of, fucktoy. Silence."

Tim listens as Peter walks out of the room, his light, happy footsteps followed by the heavier steps of the servant. He finds himself alone.

*

He finds himself alone for a long time.

He waits there on his hands and knees, arse pointed towards the open door. He is slick this time around - usually, Peter prefers the lubrication off - and his body has been allowed to feel pleasure, so he hopes that his use in the hands of these people won't be too unpleasant. He shuffles a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position on the floor without moving that much, but nobody comes into the room.

At some point, he realizes that the house is completely silent. He can't even hear Peter, although he must be somewhere here- right? He has to be. There has to be people here, maybe not near him but at least somewhere around, and eventually they will come to see him. Otherwise, what was even the point of this visit?

Tim is ashamed to realize just how much he wants it, just for someone to come in and be here with him. But he waits, waits so long that the day starts to run out of light outside, turning the room dusky first, then completely dark. He waits, shaking every now and then both from exhaustion and frustration.

He jumps when the lights are turned on in the room, bright enough to hurt his eyes. He heard no footsteps approach and he can't hear anything now; he risks a glance over his shoulder, only to be disappointed when he sees no one there. Did someone just sneak away as fast as they came? But-

A hand twists into his hair, forcing his head forward again. He blinks hard when he sees nothing but empty air before him, but the hand in his hair is heavy and firm, gripping him tight as something hot and thick is shoved against his mouth. On instinct, Tim parts his lips and allows a long, thick cock to slide into his mouth, not even giving him time to adjust to its presence before it starts to move, thrusting in and out.

It has to look ridiculous, Tim choking on fucking _nothing_ , but the cock in his mouth is merciless, thrusting in deep as Tim tries to relax and take it, not quite managing. He tenses when he feels another pair of hands on him, grabbing his hips this time, and soon another cock is sliding between his buttocks, rubbing along the crack of his arse. More invisible hands slide over his body, scratching his back, tweaking his nipples, grasping his slowly hardening cock.

These few hours alone haven't been the worst thing that Tim has experienced as a doll, but he still feels overwhelmed by all the hands groping him, wanting to twist away from their reach. Of course he can't; he has to accept every tug on his nipples and cock, accept the cock thrusting into the back of his throat and the other one that has stopped teasing him and is now about to breach him instead. It thrusts, sliding into his slicked up arse with relative ease. 

Tim gets momentary relief when the guy fucking his mouth comes, spilling his bitter spunk right onto Tim's tongue, but before he has even swallowed, another invisible man is already there, rubbing his cock against Tim's lips before Tim opens his mouth. The man behind him is pounding into him roughly, digging his fingers deep into Tim's hips, but he is fast, pulling out of Tim and coming over his back and arse before retreating entirely. He is replaced quickly, too, by someone who decides to use their fingers.

Fingers that are trying to be a fist, Tim soon realizes, which makes him tense; it's been a long time, and these people seem to be in an awful hurry, not really caring about how it's like on Tim's end. He tries to make his body relax, but it's hard to focus on that when the guy fucking his face is so damn intense, slamming into his mouth so hard his balls press against Tim's jaw with every thrust. Tim wants to groan in protest, both against the fingers - now up to four - inside him and the harsh treatment his mouth is getting. He doesn't, not that he even can.

The only choice he has anymore is to keep taking it all.

By the time there is a full fist inside him, Tim is shaking hard, drooling around the cock in his mouth while his own cock starts to twitch, grasped by a hand that he isn't sure is the same one that first touched him. The hand jerks on him and Tim comes on the floor, gasping while the cock in his mouth finally pulls out and erupts on Tim's face, leaving spunk dribbling down his jaw while his body clenches around the fist. He doesn't resist when the next pair of hands grabs him by his hair, holding his head still while his lips are guided to a warm cunt.

Not once does anyone break the silence around him. 

Tim wails, earnest but soundless. He isn't allowed to break the silence, either.

*

After everyone is done fucking him, Tim is left alone in the room again, covered in spunk and leaking it from his mouth and arse both. This time, he can hear conversation coming from elsewhere in the house, distant but there. It almost sounds normal.

Tim misses normal so much.

It's still dark outside when the servant finally comes in the room, sneering down at Tim before starting to scrub him clean with a rag. He isn't too gentle, nor does he try to talk to Tim; he wipes Tim clean the best he can before urging him to stand up.

"Come on now, get up," he says, and Tim does; he was ordered to obey these people, after all. The man wrinkles his nose at Tim, then says: "Get dressed and wait."

Tim hates how it makes him a little happy, realizing that the servant is obviously ordering him on Peter's instructions. He walks to the corner of the room and starts to put his clothes back on, feeling dirty as the tightly fitting suit clings to every line and curve of his body. The clothes made him feel like a person before; now, they make him feel like something pretending to be a person.

Which is exactly what he is, when he thinks about it.

He has to stand alone in the room for at least half an hour before Peter finally comes to fetch him.

"Did you have a good time?" he asks; Tim doesn't even bother to glare at him. Peter puts his hand on Tim's shoulder and starts to lead him out, and this time the corridors are full of people, all pale and serious-looking. All Tim needs is one deeply scornful look from some woman to avert his eyes from everyone else; he doesn't need to know how much these people look down on him.

The cab waiting for them outside is different from earlier, and so is the driver. This man doesn't look at Tim when Tim enters the car, only at Peter when Peter does. This one seems to know his place better than the poor woman who drove them here; maybe they've even worked for the family before. Tim doesn't care, not anymore.

"You did very well," Peter says to Tim once the car is moving. "Not that I expected anything else, but- oh, what is the matter?"

Tim blinks, more when he realizes that there are tears trickling out of his eyes. He turns away from Peter, lifting his hand up so he can wipe the wetness away.

He winces inside when Peter's heavy hand comes down to rest on his thigh.

"To the side of the road, please," Peter says to the driver, trailing a hand up towards Tim's crotch. "We will stop for a while."

The driver shrugs, doing as he's told. Peter squeezes Tim through his clothing first before reaching out with both of his hands, starting to unfasten Tim's slacks.

When Tim looks at him, he is smiling. When does Peter not smile? Never, seemingly, at least around Tim.

"You can say no if you want to," Peter says, sliding the button through the buttonhole and pushing the zipper down.

It's a cruel trick, Tim knows it is. He falls for it anyway. "No," he whispers, even as the car comes to a halt and Peter opens Tim's seat belt, getting ready to pull him over to him. "No, no, no-!"

The driver looks away.


	4. The Awful Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter hands Tim over to a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit intense, with choking and jumping off buildings.

After the meeting with the Lukas family, Peter doesn't take Tim out of the box for a long time. Tim doesn't even mind first; he is so exhausted and numb at the end of that day he actually welcomes the sight of the box, wanting nothing more than his mind to go blank for a while. Even once he's on the inside, it isn't bad for some time. He almost finds it peaceful.

Eventually, however, dread, despair and strange need to survive all come back. It's that last thing that baffles Tim: he is so thoroughly miserable, with no chance of anything getting better, yet part of him keeps wanting to go on. Part of him keeps hoping that his luck will turn, that he will get another once-in-a-lifetime shot at revenge, that he will get to tell both the Stranger and the Lonely to fuck off.

He wishes he could snuff that part inside him, all his useless hope. But he hangs onto it.

*

The next time the box is opened, Peter isn't there.

In fact, Tim isn't even in their usual room. Instead, he seems to be in some kind of a hotel, and there is a strange man sitting on the edge of a large bed, looking at Tim with naked excitement as Tim steps out of the box. The man is positively ancient, holding onto a wooden cane, but once Tim approaches him, he tosses the cane to the side like it doesn't even matter and walks up to Tim with all the ease in the world, getting up on his tiptoes so he can rest his hands on Tim's shoulders.

"My goodness, aren't you a pretty boy." The man checks Tim from head to toe, running his hands along Tim's arms and staring shamelessly at his cock. He grasps Tim from his elbows and turns him around, sliding his hands over to his front so he can feel his chest and abs up, drawing an involuntary squirm out of Tim. The man laughs at that, pulling his hands away so he can give Tim a harsh smack on the arse. Somehow, Tim can tell that the man is watching his cheeks shake after the strike.

"I must say, Peter sure knows how to pick them! You really look like you're made to be fucked." The man turns Tim around again, grinning up at him. "I should introduce myself: Simon Fairchild. Tell me your name."

Tim only has few seconds to scream in protest in his mind before his mouth says: "Timothy Stoker, Tim."

This is the first time in ages that someone has cared about his name. Peter doesn't, although he knows who Tim is; it just doesn't matter to him. Tim wasn't sure if it mattered to him anymore either, but apparently it does, and its stings that he can't even keep his name to himself from some awful strangers.

Except Simon Fairchild isn't a stranger. Tim remembers his name from the skydiving case and from some others, meaning he's a person of interest to the Institute. That and his obvious involvement with Peter make him an enemy, and Tim can only wonder what kind of a monster he is.

"Tim, I like that name! You do look like a Tim." Simon drops his hands down to Tim's limp cock, wrapping his fingers around it. He starts to massage it, leering at Tim as Tim's body shudders in another helpless squirm.

"Well, Tim, you and I are going to have a lot of fun together." Simon strokes him with both hands first before switching to just one, letting the other one slide down to fondle Tim's balls. "It's been a while since I've ridden a nice cock like yours."

Tim is panting by the time Simon releases him, giving the head of his cock a pat before stepping away from him.

"Stay there!" he says, holding his finger up as he returns to the bed. "I'd like to adjust you a little bit."

Adjust? Tim looks over to the bed, his whole body turning cold when he spots the manual there. Has Peter given him away? That idea should fill him with rage, or hate or contempt.

He feels absolutely crushed. For better or for worse, Peter has been his whole life ever since his new existence started, and while he is a monster, he is a monster that Tim knows. He doesn't know Simon Fairchild, or the other Lukases, or anyone else. Now, he's adrift in a world of pain and he has no idea what to expect.

"I want you to be responsive," Simon says, grabbing the manual and flopping down on the bed. As Tim looks on, still shaken, Simon starts to read the book, running his fingertip along the pages.

Soon enough, Tim starts to feel warm and tingly all over, his mouth going dry.

"Touch your nipple," Simon orders, and Tim lifts a hand up to his chest, brushing his fingertip over the bud of the nipple. He wants to shout over how intense it feels, just a light little touch; his cock, already stirred by Simon, twitches hard, and Tim inhales sharply.

"Nice," Simon says, laughing. "That should extend to your throat. I want you to like it when you choke on my cock." Simon looks over to him, a wicked glint in his eye. "Although, I can just make you like everything I do to you."

The heat in his body is distracting, but not enough to dilute the meaning of those words. Tim stares at Simon, trying to plead, but Simon focuses on the book again, opening it from a different spot and starting to read.

All Tim can do is wait, terrified.

The exit of terror from his mind is swift, leaving him feeling light and fuzzy-brained. He blinks, looking over to Simon who has put the book down and is busy unfastening his trousers.

"I have something good for you here," Simon whispers. "Get down on those lovely knees and crawl over to me."

Tim drops down instantly, his cock throbbing between his thighs as he starts to crawl towards Simon, trying to keep his movements slow and patient, knowing it will look more alluring. And he wants to be alluring; he can't remember why he was so afraid before, but now all he wants is to get close to Simon, especially as Simon takes his cock out and Tim sees how big that thing is. In the end, he ends up rushing, making his way to Simon as fast as possible and stopping at his feet to wait for his next order.

"Look at you, practically drooling." Simon spreads his legs a little wider, giving himself a slow stroke. "Speak to me, darling. Tell me what you're thinking. I hope it's what I ordered."

Tim takes a quick breath.

"I want it so much." He licks his lips, which still feel so dry. Part of him thinks he needs water, although he knows he doesn't; what he really needs is Simon's cock in his mouth right now. "I have never seen anything like your cock. I want it all the way into my throat, choking me to tears." His cock jerks over the mere idea, and he can't help a soft moan. "Please, I need it so much. Please, let me suck your cock."

Simon laughs, releasing his cock and reaching out to cup Tim's cheek. Tim can smell his musk on his hand, and it makes him tremble with need.

"Satisfactory. Come on, then."

It's a more vague order than what Tim is used to, but he knows that Simon wants from him: he lunges between Simon's slender thighs, grasping his thick shaft and bringing his mouth down to the head of his cock. He laps at it, teases the slit before taking as much of Simon's cock into his mouth as he can, letting his cheeks squeeze around the warm flesh and stroking the wrinkled skin with his tongue. Simon grabs him by his hair, gripping tight as he pushes Tim's head further down on his cock.

"If you want it so bad, take it all." Simon thrusts, pushing his cock in even deeper, and while Tim is gagging, it also feels amazing. Tim's cock is painfully hard by now, curving towards his stomach and dripping pre-come, but he pays it no attention; instead, he tries to suck Simon's cock, although Simon is making hard by moving so much, thrusting deep into his mouth and holding tight onto Tim's hair to keep him still. In the end, Tim just opts to relax, letting his jaw go as slack as possible and opening his throat for Simon.

Simon takes advantage, entering Tim's throat roughly and setting up a brisk, brutal pace that soon has Tim spasming around him. It’s uncomfortable, but it also feels good to have Simon so deep in his throat, stroking it from the inside, making his body burn all over. Tim moans whenever he is able to make sound, stroking the insides of Simon's thighs with his hands, his own hips rocking. Simon grunts, tightening his hold on Tim's hair as he pulls him off his cock, bending his head back so their eyes meet.

"Amazing what a little magic can achieve," Simon says, smiling to him. "Now, if you'd please get up on the bed."

Tim rises up from the floor, shaking a bit as he joins Simon on the bed. Simon grasps Tim from his shoulders and guides him down onto his back, climbing into his lap.

"You have such lovely hands," Simon says as he pushes his trousers further down, exposing his soft, small arse. "Why don't you prepare me?" Simon rubs his arse against Tim's cock, grasping his own to stroke it.

Biting his lip, still feeling sensitive all over, Tim does as he's told, reaching out to rest one hand on the small of Simon's back while he pushes two fingers inside his own mouth. He sucks them, getting them thoroughly wet before taking them to Simon's arse, stroking the rim of his hole. Simon moans when Tim pushes his fingers inside him, grinding down against them; his arse is warm and tight, and Tim knows it will feel great around his cock. It's been a while since Tim has fucked anyone; he is glad he gets to do it with Simon and not with anyone from that horrible party, funeral, whatever. He thrusts his fingers deep inside Simon, fucking him for a while before Simon grunts and grabs Tim's wrist, holding it tight as he pulls himself off Tim's fingers.

"Hands above your head," he says, his voice a little hoarse. He glares down at Tim, eyeing his neck and the collar around it; he reaches down and starts to open the collar, settling his arse against the head of Tim's cock.

"Oh, one more thing." Simon removes the collar, putting it aside on the bed before wrapping his hands around Tim's bare throat. " _Restore defaults._ "

As Simon slams his hips down, taking Tim's cock in all the way to the root with one thrust downward, reality comes crashing down on Tim.

He wants to scream, but he can no longer make any sound: the default is silence, after all. The default is also lack of movement, although it's not like he would have the ability to stop Simon anyway when Simon starts to grip his throat, fingers digging in deep while his arse squeezes tight around Tim's cock. Tim gags, helpless, staring up at Simon with wild eyes as Simon grins down at him, starting to rock his hips.

"What's the matter? Not having fun anymore?" Simon leans forward with all his weight, riding Tim's cock with frightening vigor. "See, I had doubts about whether I'd enjoy myself with you or not, but there really is something about having someone fully under your control. Of course, I imagine that isn't so fun for you, but then again, that isn't the point."

Tim can hear that Simon is talking, and on some level the words are sinking in, but the rest of him is too busy struggling for air. He doesn't need it for real - his body just mimics the act of breathing - but all his old reflexes are still there, and they are telling him that he's dying. The world is even going dark in his eyes, and his instinctive thrashing is slowly dying down.

Simon rides him even harder, hard enough for his arse to smack against Tim's balls whenever he comes down, the grip of his fingers tightening and tightening until Tim's body is forced beyond its limits and goes over the edge, hips bucking up as he comes inside Simon. Simon lets out a low moan, grinding down on Tim until he reaches his peak as well, clamping around Tim's cock as he spurts his seed over Tim's chest and belly. Tim is almost out of it by then, just lying there as Simon still grips his throat.

The hands finally withdraw, sliding up to cup Tim's face.

"You in there?" The other hand pats him on the cheek, then slaps him. The impact sends Tim's head snapping to the side, but his body is doing it's mimicry again, air passing through him.

"Answer me," Simon says, before pausing. “Oh! I need the book again, don’t I?”

The manual is just in Tim’s line of sight; he sees Simon pick it up, and soon his already sore and swollen throat burns like it’s being ripped from the inside. Tim gasps, tears stinging in his eyes, and as the pain passes, he turns his head to face Simon and whispers: “I’m here.”

"Good." Simon pats his cheek again, rising up on his knees and letting Tim's soft cock slip out of him. Semen drips out of him; Tim suspects in his earlier state he would have found the sight beyond arousing, but now it's just repulsive.

"Get up, then, and clean up a bit," Simon says, pulling his trousers back on. "I have clothes for you."

Even though all he wants to do is sleep, Tim tenses. Simon's face shows no sign of him having noticed anything, but he says: "Speak freely."

"Where are we going?" Tim asks.

The glee he sees in Simon's eyes makes his stomach drop.

"Just for a walk," Simon replies in a soft voice. "Won't be long."

*

Simon is right: the walk isn't long at all. They walk through the corridors of the hotel, hand in hand; aside from few curious glances, no one really cares. The members of the staff, especially, pointedly ignore them as they make their way upstairs, all the way to the roof of the hotel.

The wind is cold and blowing when they step outside, and Tim knows what is going to happen. Simon just smiles to him, leading him to the edge of the roof.

"Let's climb down," Simon says, pointing down to the ledge. "Then, on the count of three, we jump."

This would be bad enough already, but Tim is sure this won't be an ordinary fall; something freaky is going to happen. But he has no choice but to do as Simon says, until they're both standing on the ledge together. Simon's hand had momentarily left his, but now he takes Tim's hand again, squeezing it.

"Are you afraid?" he asks, rubbing Tim's knuckles.

Tim swallows, glancing down. The building is tall, but Tim isn't exactly a human anymore; if he were to fall from here, he might just survive it. Get grievous injuries, sure, but survive. It's fucked up that this is the less evil choice.

"Yes," he says.

Simon laughs. "Good. Three."

They jump.

Just as Tim expected, he finds himself high up in the sky. Things seem to go in slow motion; Simon's hand is still in his, warm and almost comforting, and Tim finds himself gripping it tight as they glide through the air, the wind whipping against Tim's face and chilling him to the bone, robbing him of air. Down in the distance, he can see a green blur which he assumes to be a forest, or maybe a park.

"Be seeing you!" Simon shouts to him, tearing his hand out of Tim's, and with that he is gone.

Tim is all alone now. He realizes he still has the permission to speak, so he uses that to scream from the bottom of his lungs, watching as the ground below slowly gets nearer. It's hard, given that the wind whistling past him is bringing tears into his eyes, but he keeps looking: he wants to see his end coming. He wants to have that choice at least.

His voice goes hoarse soon, but he runs out of the will to shout before he runs out of sound. He falls, barely aware of his body anymore, of anything.

He hits the ground.

*

Tim opens his eyes.

His body- feels complete, the bones intact, his skin not torn, his flesh merely bruised. Somehow, he has ended up on his side, with his legs drawn up against his chest and his arms wrapped around them, his head pressed to his knees. He can't move from this position, but he can tell that it's dark around him, indicating he has been out of it for a long time.

But not dead. He has just been dropped off from the fucking sky and he is still. Not. Dead.

Tim doesn't know how to feel about that.

He hears footsteps approach him.

"There you are," Peter says, walking up next to him and kneeling down to his side. "Simon sends his regards. He said he would recommend you to others."

He rolls Tim over to his back, which causes Tim to release himself, his limbs straightening out. Peter smiles down at him before frowning, looking down at Tim's neck.

"I guess he decided to keep your collar," he says. "You look so strange without it. Oh well. Stand up."

As Tim drags himself back on his feet, he sees that Peter is carrying the manual; the sight of it fills him with relief. Peter hasn't given him away after all. He hasn't abandoned him.

He hates that this matters to him.

"Let's go home." Peter rests his arm around Tim's shoulders, and for once Tim doesn’t mind its weight.


	5. Go Not Gently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim changes ownership.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark.

At Peter's house, Tim expects Peter to put him back in the box immediately. He doesn't mind the idea - he's so tired - but instead, Peter makes him sit down on the bed.

"I have something to tell you," Peter says, resting his hands on Tim's shoulders. "I'm going to achieve a very important goal soon. That is going to keep me busy for a long while, so I won't have any time for you."

Peter strokes him, as if to soothe him. Tim can only stare at him, wide-eyed; does this mean Peter is going to ditch him after all? The idea fills him with despair, making him shake, but he has no choice but to listen.

"So I'm going to put you to sleep until I want you again." Peter withdraws one hand so he can take the manual from his coat pocket, patting Tim's head with it. "It should be easier on you than having to be awake, yes? I wouldn't want you to break just yet."

Just eventually. Tim looks down, not knowing how to feel about this, which seems to be a trend for him these days. Everything is either confusing or painful, and he doesn't know which he prefers anymore.

But there is one thing he would like to know.

"Speak freely," Peter says, giving Tim his chance.

"Will you-" He hesitates. What he is going to ask is so pathetic, but he needs to know. "Will you keep me? When I get back?"

Peter laughs.

"Let me think about it," he says. "But now, it's time for you to go, doll."

Peter pulls his hand away, leaving Tim feeling cold as he opens the manual.

"I'll make it worthwhile to you," Tim says, pleads, as Peter begins to read, no longer looking at him. "I will be anything you want, just-" Tim blinks hard as deep exhaustion falls over him, making it hard to think. He sways on his spot, trying to stay upright, failing. "Just don't-"

In the end, all he has is the feeble comfort that Peter's answer wasn't a complete no.

*

His sleep is heavy and dreamless, offering rest but no solace. When it ends, so does Tim's world.

"Rise," a voice says, and it belongs to Elias.

He scrambles out of the box, his body obeying even as his mind screams. He is still in Peter's home, in the familiar room, but it's Elias standing there, dressed in one of his sharp suits, his eyes as cool and indifferent as ever, even though he looks paler and wearier than Tim remembers. As Tim stands there, terrified and unable to move, Elias walks up to him, reaching out to run the back of his hand down Tim's cheek.

"Oh, Tim." A slow smile spreads on Elias's lips, amusement twinkling in his eyes as he cups Tim's face between his two hands. "What have they done to you? Not that I expected the Circus to do a good job of bringing someone back to life, but this really is lackluster. You are barely half of what you used to be."

_Kiss my fucking arse._ It's been a while since Tim has felt anything like rage, but now it bubbles up in his chest, burning him up inside. But he is also worried: where is Peter? Has Peter loaned him out to a friend again, or has he given Tim away for good? Why does he keep yanking on his leash like this? But Tim can't ask anything, just watch as Elias leans close to him until only a breath separates them.

"No need to worry, though." Elias leans in close, grasping Tim tight. "I will make use of you."

Elias kisses him, deep and hard; it's the first time Tim has been kissed in months and he hates every second of it, hates that it has to be Elias, who cares even less for him than anyone else who has had him. Elias twists one hand into Tim's hair, bending his head back as he forces his tongue into Tim's mouth, tasting him; Tim hopes he tastes like plastic, or something else that is unpleasant. Elias bites him on his bottom lip before pulling away, and there is now heat in his eyes when he sets them on Tim.

"Let's remind you of your place," Elias says. "Get on the bed and pleasure yourself. I have some news for you."

The words are instantly alarming, and Tim can't do anything about them; he walks over to the bed, climbing upon it and turning over to his back. Keeping his eyes on Elias, trying to ignore how fast his doll heart is beating - why does it even have to beat, when it doesn't matter that it does - in his chest, Tim spreads his legs wide apart, giving Elias a good view as he grasps his cock. Elias says nothing first, watching in silence Tim as Tim starts to stroke himself to hardness, his own hand lingering over his groin.

"Peter is dead," Elias says as the first drop of pre-come squeezes out of the tip of Tim's cock, trickling down slowly as Tim's hand keeps moving up and down his length. Tim's hand isn't slowed down at all by the shock and disbelief that spreads into his mind over Elias's words, making him tremble. Elias goes on, watching Tim's face intently: "His other pet project didn't turn out well for him. I'm afraid you are on your own now." 

Elias is staring at him, drinking him in with his eyes, but Tim doesn't care. Peter is- Tim is- Tim wants to shout, plead Elias to stop lying, stop telling him the awful truth. He strokes himself instead, his fist moving faster on his cock now, squeezing its length tight and spreading the leaking pre-come around. His other hand is working its way between his buttocks, seeking out his hole, working a finger in.

"Tell me how that makes you feel," Elias asks, and Tim is babbling before he can stop himself:

"It hurts." Tears are pricking at his eyes, but his hand keeps moving, slipping down to fondle his balls for a while before returning up to his cock, and he's now pushing a second finger inside himself, stretching his hole open. "I'm hopeless. Helpless. All alone." He rocks against his fingers, pushing them deep inside and crooking them until his back arches and his toes curl.

"I want to die." His cock is twitching hard and fast, his balls feel tight, but he's not going to come- not yet. Not until he's really pushed to his limits, or when Elias tells him to. Until then, he's just going to suffer, like he always will now. "Elias, please, just let me die."

Elias groans deep in his throat, squeezing himself.

"That's never been an option for you, Tim," he says, starting to unfasten his slacks.

A sob escapes Tim as he watches Elias expose himself, knowing what's going to happen. His hand keeps moving on his prick, harsh and merciless, and he is fucking himself with three fingers at fast pace, panting heavily as Elias approaches the bed. Elias climbs upon it, looking down at Tim with intense eyes before saying:

"That is enough, roll over."

Tim's hold on his cock loosens and he pulls his fingers out of himself, shifting over to his stomach. He brings his hands to rest down on his sides, laying his cheek flat against the mattress as Elias drapes himself over his back, dragging his cock along Tim's arse crack. Tim's cock aches, his hole twitching slightly as Elias rubs himself against it, leaning down to press a kiss next to Tim's ear.

"So well-behaved. I'm impressed that Peter managed to break you in." Elias breaches him, not too gently. "Or was it the Stranger that finally got you, Tim? After all your hard work and suffering, you finally let it beneath your skin?" Elias pushes forward, stretching Tim even further open, filling him. "Or perhaps you welcomed it in. Perhaps you were always weak, just full of bravado."

Tim squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could cover his ears. Instead, he has to tolerate it when Elias nips at his earlobe, breathing heavily against him as he pushes all the way inside Tim, letting his cock throb within him before he starts to thrust. He pushes his fingers into Tim's hair, grasping it tight and pulling his head up from the mattress and back, not allowing him to slip away.

"It's such a pity that you had to ruin yourself like this," Elias whispers to him, hips snapping back and forth as slides his other hand underneath Tim, brushing his palm over his nipples. He grabs another one between his fingertips and gives it a pinch, making Tim gasp and arch his back. "Your body was ideal for my use. Young, strong, handsome. I thought it would have been harder to deal with your mind, but now I think I could have absorbed you with ease. There is not much to take in the end, is there?"

_What is he even talking about?_ Tim doesn't understand, and doesn't particularly want to, either. He wants this to end, Elias to be done with him.

"Oh well, it doesn't matter anymore." Elias's hand slides down to Tim's stomach and lower between his thighs, grasping his oversensitive cock. He squeezes it hard, causing Tim to buck beneath him; Elias laughs at that, dragging his fingers up to the head so he can pinch it, making Tim jolt from every press of his fingers. "You have taken to your new purpose quite well. Perhaps you were always meant to be this."

Elias alternates between pinching and stroking him, keeping Tim in the terrible area between pleasure and pain as he thrusts deep into him, moving harder and faster. He lets Tim's head come down on the mattress, his hold on Tim's hair loosening for a moment before he tightens it again, pressing Tim's face down into the mattress as he slams into him, tugging on his cock.

"Come," he says, and Tim does, mouth gaping wide against the mattress as his cock jerks, spilling its load into Elias's waiting hand. Elias squeezes him tight, thrusting harder into him until he goes still inside Tim, cock twitching away within him as he reaches his peak. He buries his face into the crook of Tim's neck, breathing harshly against his skin.

Helpless underneath Elias, Tim can't stop the tears from squeezing out of his closed eyes.

"That was- satisfactory." Elias kisses Tim on his neck before pulling away, lifting Tim's head up from the mattress. He wipes his spunk-covered hand across Tim's mouth, making sure every cool drop sticks to Tim's lips.

"Why don't you clean that up? We need to go." Elias ruffles his hair before yanking himself out of Tim, leaving him squeezing around nothing. "You won't be seeing this place again."

Long time ago, Tim would have been happy to hear those words. Now, they just fill him with horror.

*

Elias has him pick up his own box, then drops the manual on the bottom of it.

"As interesting as it would be to experiment with you," Elias explains to him as they leave Peter's small, solitary house, "I'm a busy man. I'm afraid I have to leave you behind."

It's night time, and the streets are empty; Tim wonders if that's the natural state of this neighborhood, or if it's Peter's lingering effect. It doesn't matter either way; nobody shows up to intervene as he and Elias walk together, Tim in total state of nudity, Elias not caring at all. They walk until they reach a small alley, and Elias guides Tim to the back of it.

"Put the box down and get inside," Elias says, giving Tim a push between his shoulders. Tim can only obey, setting the box down on the ground and taking the lid off, even as he shakes hard and can barely see anything through his tears. He wishes so much he could pick up the manual that rests on the bottom of the box, do anything to put an end to this.

He gets inside the box.

"At ease," Elias says once Tim is settled, legs bent and wrists crossed above the small of his back as usual. Tim falls limp, and on the outside Elias puts the lid on. "Good luck, Tim."

He hears footsteps retreat, and he knows Elias is gone.

Tim is in the box. Peter is gone, Elias has abandoned him; Tim has no idea what waits for him now. He could be found by anyone, or by nobody at all; he could be stuck here forever, only able to think and sleep. He doesn't want to do either. He wants to stop.

He _could_ just stop. He could let his conscious mind slip away, accept the inevitable and become a doll through and through. He could let his humanity, whatever makes him Tim Stoker, go for good, given that holding onto those things hasn't led him anywhere. He could give in. Give up.

Outside, footsteps are approaching the box.

Tim could give up.

Tim waits.


End file.
